Author's Note: Let us realize that: the privilege to work is a gift, the power to work is a blessing, the love of work is success! –David O. McKay

Disclaimer: I don't own House, M.D., nor its concepts, characters, and setting, but I do love them, especially Chase. This story is for entertainment purposes only and is not meant to take the place of the advice of either physicians or lawyers licensed to practice in your country or state.

In the Department of Diagnostic Medicine, Chase knew, Dr. House was in charge, but in the clinic—

"Nurse Previn?"

She turned her head towards him, a black eyebrow on the rise. "I think you can call me Brenda, Dr. Chase."

"Brenda. I need to go upstairs for a minute."

Brenda's dark eyes smiled her pleasure. How had that hateful House gotten control of this lovely and polite young Australian? "Are you asking my permission to leave the Clinic?"

"Just for a few minutes, yeah."

"Oh, now it's a few minutes, not just one?" she teased, then almost crowed with delight at his blush. God, he was pretty. "Okay, Doctor, you may go."

"Thank you."

As Chase started away, she called a warning: "If you're not back down here in five minutes, I'm sending Nurse Jeffrey up there after you."

Chase ran for the elevator.

"Your diary's boring," House complained, dropping it onto the glass tabletop.

"It's not a diary," Chase explained, picking it up and slipping it into his pocket.

"It says 'Diary' right on it."

"Yeah, but I'm Australian: it's just for work notes, not secret thoughts." Chase headed out the door.

"Wait—Where are you going?"

Chase stuck his head back around the glass door. "Clinic." Seeing House open his mouth to object, he continued. "You approved this as my clinic morning last week. I'll answer all of your questions this arvo, but if you stop me going back now, Brenda's gonna send Jeffrey up here to fetch me."

"Oh, God." House replied, nostrils flared. "Get out of here then."

"I hear you admitted a clinic patient," House said, when Chase at last returned to the DDM office.

"Yeah," Chase agreed. He walked over to the 'kitchen' area to pour himself a much needed cup of coffee.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Chase gulped down coffee that hadn't been improved by 'cooking' on the machine for four hours. "Did you want me to tell you? It's just a B12 deficiency."

"Are you sure?"

Chase shrugged, refilled his cup with more of the thick sludgy remains of the morning's coffee, then sat down at the conference table across from his boss.

"Not completely. I'm waiting for the test results to come back."

House frowned. "Why didn't you run the blood test yourself?"

"Can't on a clinic patient. They tell me I'm not supposed to spend more than fifteen minutes on each case. Besides, the pathology lab is full of techs right now. They wouldn't thank me if I tried to do their jobs for them… and I thought you'd yell at me for coming back here late."

House's voice stayed mild. "So I've surprised you with my 'reasonableness'?"

"I guess."

"Why do you think it's a B12 deficiency? And if it is, why did you admit the guy?"

Chase sighed. "He's been to the ER four times. Different ER each time, don't ask me why he keeps going different places, but anyway I didn't want him going for a fifth. His mother died this past year of a heart attack, and he thinks he's next. He's physically fit—weightlifter. He's getting chest pains though—chest feels heavy and tight. Trouble breathing. Tingling and numbness in his hands and fingers. Feels weak, losing weight, tired all the time, constipated, but his EKG is normal, and blood tests show no markers for a heart attack, so the ER docs just keep patting him on the head, telling him it isn't a heart attack, and sending him home. He's got loss of sensation in his fingers and toes, no response to pain stimulus, can't tell if you move his toes up or down, and no joint reflex response, plus he's had low red blood cell counts on previous tests."

"So you're thinking pernicious anemia?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, you're right, that's boring… just lemme know if that diagnosis doesn't pan out."

Chase nodded an acknowledgement.

"Now tell me why you're carrying around a diary."

"For God's sake." Chase pulled the book out and handed it over. "It's just a notebook to remind me how to convert metric units to American units, or what test I'm to run next, or anything I think I might forget before I chart it. Okay?"

"Why does it have the word 'Diary' on it?"

Chase threw up his hands. "Because the people who bound it put that word on it."

"That makes no sense."

"Like this conversation."

"Okay, let's talk about something important."

"Such as?"

"Next week is Christmas. This department will be closed on the day, though not on the Eve. Your mission, which you have no choice about accepting, is this: no matter what Cuddy says to you, you are not to agree to work on Christmas Day."

"You don't believe new people should work on holidays? Put in the time, pay their dues and all that?"

"I'm protecting my department's prerogatives. And if you really want to be hazed, I'm happy to take care of that all by myself."

Chase eyed him, but opted to let it lie. House said a lot of weird things; it often paid not to react.

"I won't work it," he promised. "My girlfriend's taking me to her friends' place in Connecticut on Chrissie."